


Coming to Terms

by CaptAcorn



Series: Home [11]
Category: Star Trek: Voyager
Genre: Angst, Babies, F/M, Family Drama, Infertility, Miscarriage, post partum depression
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-20
Updated: 2017-12-20
Packaged: 2019-02-17 15:59:59
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,864
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13080345
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CaptAcorn/pseuds/CaptAcorn
Summary: The eleventh story in the Home series! Commander Miral Paris doesn’t fail. At sports, at school, at love, at Starfleet. She might stumble, she might make a mistake, but she doesn’t give up and she is not a failure. Except maybe at this one, very important thing...





	Coming to Terms

**Author's Note:**

> This story contains references to infertility, miscarriages, and (sort of) post-partum depression. Please see acknowledgments under the first story of the series, Fresh Start.

"Do you have a blanket on him?"

"Yes, Miral."

"There's not much sun today. It can be chilly when the wind's blowing. And make sure it's tucked in well."

"It is."

Shovar opened the door of the hover cab and reached in for Amar's baby carrier. Miral pulled it closer. "I'll take him. Just get the luggage."

Her husband went to the trunk of the cab without a word. Miral inspected the carrier, tucking the soft beige fleece tighter here and there, then suddenly pulled it off the sleeping infant. She stared hard at his chest. One breath. Two. She tucked the blanket back around him, checking and rechecking that it was loose around Amar's neck and chest.

"Miral." Shovar was staring at her through the open door of the cab.

"I'm coming."

Her mother opened the front door of their San Diego bungalow before Miral had even reached the porch steps. Ambling towards them with a gently waving tail, her parents' aging collie was the first to greet them. Normally Miral was fond of the old dog, but today all her instincts screamed a warning.

"No, Bess!" Miral snapped when the dog nosed at the carrier. She pulled Amar out of reach. "Bad dog!"

"It's fine, sweetie," Mom said. "Bess loves babies."

Miral brushed off her mother's attempt to take the carrier and moved into the house, keeping Amar well out of the collie's reach.

There were hugs of greeting and lots of oohs and aahs over the baby. This was Tom and B'Elanna's first time seeing Amar in person, Miral having given birth aboard the  _Lozen_  only two weeks earlier. She and Shovar were both taking six months' parental leave and her mother had suggested they spend the first half of it in San Diego. "You can have your old room back," she'd offered.

Thirty weeks into her pregnancy and as big as the house she and Shovar didn't have, Miral had happily agreed. At the time, it had seemed like the perfect plan — back with her parents and brother on Earth for a few months, plenty of extra hands to help with her newborn.

But now they were here, and it was just so many people. Because it wasn't just her parents — soon it would also be her brother, her grandfather, aunts and cousins. And the dog! How could Miral have forgotten about the fact that staying with her parents also meant Bess and all the various microbes she deposited everywhere she went?

The baby carrier had barely touched the bench in the front hall when Dad started to bend down and undo the straps that held Amar. Miral put a hand on her father's arm. "Did you sanitize your hands? I just saw you touching the dog. And you're not sick at all, are you?"

Dad held his hands up for inspection. "All clean and sanitized, I promise. And the Doc gave me a clean bill of health only three days ago." He shook her loose before Miral could respond. "Now let me hold my grandson."

Once they were in the family room, Miral sat perched on the edge of the sofa, crossing and uncrossing her legs, as her parents and Shovar discussed the various facets of Amar's day to day existence. Was he a good eater, a good sleeper? Had he truly smiled yet or was it only gas pains? She waved her mother off when B'Elanna offered to get her some tea and watched her father closely, making sure he kept Amar's head supported.

"Joe's going to come by himself for lunch tomorrow," Dad was saying. "The time difference screws up Milo's nap schedule if they only come for the day."

Miral breathed a sigh of relief. She'd been worried about when her nephew would show up. Not that she didn't love the little boy, but a toddler probably carried more germs than the damn dog. Maybe in a month or so, it would be OK. Then Amar would be bigger. Hardier. A month would be fine.

"But they're all going to come on the fourteenth for the weekend," Dad continued.

Miral's head snapped up. The fourteenth was barely a week away. "They're going to stay here? Six adults, a toddler, and a baby in  _this_  house? It's going to be too crowded."

Dad only laughed. "It'll be a little hectic, sure, but it's just three days. We'll survive." Amar began to stir in his arms and Dad smiled at him. "Hey there, little man. Nice to meet you."

Her father stood and slowly swayed the baby in his arms, murmuring nonsense at him. It was fine. Of course it was fine. He'd raised her and Joe, after all, and her brother had told her Dad had helped a lot when Milo was an infant. Miral started to ease back into the couch cushions. Shovar gave her a smile and patted her knee. "Amar is fine with your father. Why don't you let me get you some food?"

"Shovar's right, Miri," Dad said as he gently rocked Amar back and forth. "You have to eat enough to keep up your milk supply. Your mom used to eat like a bird when she was nursing — as in half her bodyweight in food every day."

"Oh," Miral said, looking at her hands. "I'm not nursing. It wasn't working well. He was always crying, and it hurt. So I gave… I'm not doing it anymore."

"That's too bad," Dad said, nodding towards Mom as she came back in the room with a mug of tea for Shovar. "That was one of your favorite things, wasn't it, B'Elanna? Nursing? Maybe you can give Miral some tips. Or we could see if there's a lactation— "

"I don't need any fucking tips," Miral snapped. "It's not brain surgery. It just didn't work, and I don't want to talk about it anymore!"

Shovar and her mother stared at her. Dad looked stricken. "I'm sorry, kitten. I didn't mean to— " Amar interrupted him with a whimper.

Everyone said that you learned your baby's cries. This one meant he was hungry, this one meant he was tired or needed to be changed. Amar's all sounded exactly the same to Miral.

"Hey, hey, hey," her father cooed at the baby. "I bet you're hungry, huh? You need a little milk?"

Of course her father knew what Amar's cries meant. He'd met him fifteen minutes ago and he was already an expert. She should ask him to come into space with them as a nanny. Or maybe she could just leave Amar in California. It was a safer place for a baby, anyway — a nice house and a yard, instead of hurtling through an endless black vacuum.

"I'll go get a bottle," Miral said, and fled into the entryway where Shovar had left their bags.

She couldn't find the bottles. She knew she had packed them, at least three, because Amar only liked the one kind of nipple and she didn't know if all the replicators they'd come across would have the right file, so it was easier just to have them on hand no matter what Shovar said. Of course she had them. She'd fed him since they'd left the  _Lozen_ , hadn't she? She just couldn't fucking  _find_ any. Meanwhile, Amar's whimpering had evolved into more of a wail. Miral felt a warm dampness spread across the front of her shirt.  _Shit._ You'd think since she'd been an utter failure at being able to breastfeed her baby that she'd at least be spared the indignity of leaking milk everywhere, but her supply still hadn't completely dried up.

"The bottles are in here, sweetie."

Miral looked up from the case she was tearing apart to see her mother holding the satchel that Shovar had left on the stairs. "Right. Of course they are," Miral said, standing to the take the bag from her mother. Then she looked around the entryway and realized what she'd done.

Their things were everywhere. They hadn't brought much luggage, of course — Shovar wasn't picky about his clothes and given that Miral was getting smaller and Amar was getting bigger, it made more sense to wait and replicate what they'd need versus hauling it all with them — but everything they  _had_ brought was now strewn around the foyer of her parents' home. "I'm sorry," Miral said. "Let me just replicate some formula and feed the baby. Then I'll clean this mess up. Or I can do this first, it won't take me long."

Mom was looking at her as if Miral was a ornery warp drive that needed troubleshooting. "I think," she said, "that  _I'm_  going to replicate the formula, we're going to let your father feed the baby because that's all he wants in life anyway, and you're going to sit down and relax."

"But this mess—"

"Is not a big deal. I'll take care of it later," Mom said. She pushed Miral into the kitchen and directed her to sit on the padded window seat that lined one side of their long table. She could still hear Amar crying.

Miral shouldn't be letting her mother do this — it was Miral's responsibility to feed the baby, even if her stupid breasts weren't up to the job. What if the replicator made the formula too cold? Or, even worse, too hot? And had she told her mother the right one to replicate? Miral had used a human one the first time, not even thinking. She'd just been so desperate to find something that would finally satisfy the newborn and hadn't even considered that Amar was mostly Klingon. Shovar had had to point it out to her, that she needed one with more protein. Miral jumped up from the bench and pulled up the replicator's history, staring at the formula numbers until she was sure they were the right ones.

The house fell silent. Amar had finally quieted.

"I thought I told you to sit down and relax," Mom said as she came back in the kitchen.

Miral nodded dumbly and sat back down. The pendulum had swung back again, as it was wont to do lately. Her earlier claustrophobia had morphed into gratitude that she was sitting in her parents' kitchen, with her father doting over her baby and her mother telling her exactly what she should do. It wasn't what she had imagined — a joyous time with her family all around, everyone smiling and laughing, as she and Shovar showed off their son. But that was OK. Because maybe it could be easy _._  She missed easy. She missed knowing what she was supposed to do. Miral could handle miserable and exhausted and anxious, if things could just be easy for a little while.

A mug of hot chocolate piled high with whipped cream appeared in front of her.

"You said you didn't want tea," Mom said as she sat down on the bench next to Miral.

"Thanks."

"It's terrible for everyone," Mom said. "Especially with the first one. Don't let anyone tell you differently — they're either lying or they forgot."

Miral nodded and poked a little at the whipped cream with the tip of her finger.

"Drink it, don't play with it." Mom reached over and tucked a lock of Miral's greasy, unwashed hair behind her ear. "This is why I wanted you to stay with us. I remember how hard it was, those first few weeks. And lonely. God. We were doing the post- _Voyager_  debriefs, and your dad would be gone for hours—"

"I'm OK," Miral blurted out. "It's not that bad. I'm just tired, with the traveling. Amar mostly just sleeps, and since I stopped trying to nurse things are a lot better. It's nothing like when you had me — I didn't just defeat the Borg or come home after being lost for seven years." She stood, suddenly feeling a need to be alone. When was the last time she'd been alone? "I can't stand thinking about that mess I made in the hall. I'm going to go take care of it."

After stuffing the clothes and toiletries into the two cases any way they would fit, she hauled them up to her old room. It hadn't changed much since she'd last spent any real time in here — the summer before she started at the Academy. Her holos of The Deep Space Experience and The Plasma Burns had been replaced by some black and white photographs and a reproduction of a Hopper landscape, but otherwise it looked exactly the same. Right down to Toby the Targ sitting at the head of the bed, tucked in between the pillows.

Miral's intention was to unpack. Amar was clearly content with his grandfather, Mom had said dinner wouldn't be a for a couple of hours, and she might as well do something productive. Get their stuff settled away, set up the bassinet, replicate diapers so they'd have plenty on hand for the middle-of-the-night changes. Shovar offered to do them, but Miral was always the one that woke up first and once she was up, she was up. It just made more sense for her to take care of it instead of them both being awake and overtired.

Her childhood bed calling to her, Miral lay down on the soft, floral duvet and curled onto her side. She didn't understand it, how tired she was. She'd never been one to need a lot of sleep. All-nighters had been  _de rigueur_  at the Academy and there'd been dozens of times during her tenure as chief tactical officer and now XO of the  _Lozen_  that she'd go days with nothing more than a quick power nap or a few hours here and there. Even when she was pregnant she was fine on five or six hours. Nothing exhausted her like Amar did. She pulled Toby into her arms and closed her eyes. Maybe just a little nap before dinner. She could unpack later.

"Miral."

She sat up with a jerk, taking a swipe at the drool she felt on her chin. It had been late-afternoon when she'd come up here, but now only the dim light of dusk was visible through the windows. Her mother was sitting on the edge of the bed, smiling at her. "I felt bad waking you, but it's almost time for dinner."

"Amar," Miral said, running her hands over her face. "How long have I been asleep? He must need a change or another bottle. You should have—"

"I should have done exactly what I did, which is let you get some rest. You looked exhausted, sweetie." B'Elanna bent down and picked up Toby. Miral must have dropped the little toy onto the floor while she slept. "He usually stays in our room these days, but I thought the two of you might like a reunion."

"Sure." Miral tried to work her rat's nest of hair into something resembling a pony tail. "I'm going to go check on Amar."

Before she could get up from the bed, her mother grabbed her arm. "He's having his own nap on your father, and neither one of them could be happier. Sit with me for a minute." B'Elanna batted Miral's hands away from her hair. "And let me take care of that."

Miral fiddled with the hem of her still milk-stained shirt as her mother began to gently pick out the tangles by hand. "Are you sure Dad doesn't mind?"

"I'm pretty sure Dad is asleep, too," Mom said as she got up from the bed to get a hairbrush from the bedside table. "Don't underestimate how much your father loves babies. If it were up to him, you and Joe would have six apiece." Her mother stopped in her tracks and gave Miral a pained look. "Oh, Miri, I'm sorry. That was a thoughtless thing to say."

"Don't worry about it," Miral said, but she didn't meet her mother's eyes. "It's fine. It's not like I'm the first woman to have a miscarriage."

B'Elanna sat back on the bed and began to brush. Miral closed her eyes and sighed. When was the last time her mother had done this? It must have been more than twenty years. It had been a nightly ritual when she was young, but around the time she turned twelve or thirteen, Miral had decided it was a juvenile practice and told her mother she could brush her own hair, thank you very much. There had been not a few times during her teen years that's she'd wished her mother would offer to brush it again, but B'Elanna never had and Miral was too proud to ask.

Miral didn't speak until the first tear started to track down her cheek. "Something's wrong."

The brush stopped. "With Amar?"

"Not Amar," Miral said. "Me. Something is wrong with me."

B'Elanna began to brush again. "I wondered," she said. "Postpartum depression? Your Aunt Kath had it, too. There's lots of treatments for it. Well, I'm sure you already know that. It'll get better. Just give it time."

"It's not that," Miral said another tear fell. "Shovar thought that, too, at first. But all my tests came back normal. And there's no treatments for just being a crappy mother."

Her mother paused her brushing to kiss the back of Miral's head. "You're not a crappy mother. You're a new mother and you're overwhelmed. I'm telling you, everyone feels this way at first."

"No." Miral shook her head. "They don't. Not like this." She stood and moved away from her mother to the window.

Miral didn't know how to explain it. Nothing she felt these days made sense, not even to her. She and Shovar had been trying for years to start a family. They'd been through countless different fertility treatments — everything ranging from state of the art, to borderline experimental, to one time trying an ancient Klingon remedy out of desperation. But even when the treatments had worked, the embryos wouldn't implant or would be unviable in some other, heartbreaking way. They'd been disappointed over and over again. Until Amar.

"I was so  _happy_  when I was pregnant," Miral said to her mother, tracing the panes of the window with her finger. "Every new milestone was a celebration. But now he's here and I don't…"

"You don't what, sweetie?"

"I don't think I love him," Miral whispered, feeling a tear start to fall down her cheek.

Miral knew what was coming. Her mother's assurances that of course she loved him, he was her baby, she was just tired, it would all be fine. All the same things the counselor had already said to her. They would ring just as hollow.

B'Elanna came to stand beside her at the window. "Maybe you don't."

Miral stared at her mother, her breath caught in her throat.

"One thing I've always admired about you, Miri," she said, "is how you've never denied your emotions. It was always a battle for me — I always wanted to be less angry, or hurt, or sad. But you've always been honest with yourself, you've never tried to pretend you don't feel something you do. So if you aren't sure you love Amar yet, maybe you don't. But that doesn't mean you won't someday soon."

Miral began to cry in earnest then. "But this isn't normal. It  _can't_  be normal. Everything's so much harder than I thought. I mean, I knew it would be hard. But it's  _so_ hard. And I look at him, and all I feel is… obligation. And I keep waiting for it — like at some point I'll just look at him and it will click, right? I'll feel this surge of emotion and it will all be worth it, except it's not happening. Shovar loves him. He sings to him and smiles at him and he's so fucking gentle — he's a natural at it. And Dad! Dad loves him and he met him an hour ago. So it's not the baby. It's me. There's something wrong with me. Maybe that's why I couldn't get pregnant, maybe that's why I lost all those babies. Because I shouldn't even be a mother."

Her mother folded her into her arms and pressed Miral's head into her shoulder. "Listen to me. There's no normal here. It's different for everybody. But I know you and I know you that one day that obligation you feel right now is going to change into something else. Something that feels more like love. There's all this… mythology around motherhood, as if you're supposed to magically know what you're doing the second the baby pops out. But that's not how it works."

"But I  _do_  know what I'm doing!" Miral cried, breaking free of her mother's arms. "I know exactly what to do. I've been preparing for this for years! I've read everything, I quizzed Joe and Aatto endlessly. I know what position he should sleep in, how much weight he should be gaining. I make sure he eats enough, I check his breathing. Hell, I even stole a med tricorder and scan him three times a day, just to make sure he's healthy."

"Sweetie," her mother said as she stroked Miral's hair. "Maybe it's not that you  _don't_  love him. Maybe you're just afraid to love him."

Miral sank onto the bed. "What are you talking about?"

B'Elanna sat next to her and put her hand on Miral's knee. "I've never told you this, but you had a little sister. Almost, anyway."

"What?"

Her mother had had a third pregnancy, in between Miral and Joe — a little girl. She'd lost it due to a cord accident at twenty weeks, a fluke occurrence that had been completely unpredictable and unpreventable. By the time they'd known there was an issue, there was nothing to be done. "They had to do a fetal transport," her mother said, her voice barely above a whisper. "Because she was already more than half a kilo. Your father wanted to see her, but I didn't. I couldn't. So they transported her outside of my room and he saw her without me. Then he came back and told me how beautiful she was. We named her Isela, for my grandmother."

Her mother's eyes were with bright with tears. B'Elanna almost never cried. Dad cried at the drop of a hat — weddings, graduations, each time Miral had called them to tell him another pregnancy had failed, even more when Amar had been born healthy and strong. But Mom had always been the stoic one, the family warrior. "I'm so sorry, Mom," Miral murmured.

"Thank you," she said, wiping at her eyes. "The situation  _was_  different. I never had any issues getting pregnant. For whatever reason, your dad's and my particular mix of genetics work just fine in that department. We started trying again as soon as I got the OK and I was pregnant with Joe within weeks. Then I spent the next eight months completely terrified. I was convinced something would go wrong. And I was  _awful_  to your father. I don't know why he didn't divorce me." She laughed a little. "I'm pretty sure that's why we stopped after Joe. Neither one of us could have survived another pregnancy."

"But I told you," Miral said. "I loved being pregnant. Especially the second half, once all the scans came back normal. And Shovar and I are fine, or were fine. This pregnancy was one of the best times of our marriage."

"And now," Mom said. "Amar is here. Not safe and protected inside of you. No more fetal monitor that alerts you the second there might a problem. Everything isn't completely under your control anymore." Her mother stroked her hair again. "Miral, after everything you've been through in the past four years — all the treatments and losses you've suffered — it's no surprise that you're afraid something might happen to him. Not even now that he's been born. In fact, maybe it's especially because he's been born."

Could it be that simple? Miral wondered. That after all the babies she'd almost had and lost, that she was still worried this one would be taken away as well? "But how do I stop? How do I stop being so afraid all the time?"

"You keep doing what you're doing," Mom said. "You keep going through the motions of caring for your baby. Because from where I'm sitting, you look like a wonderful mother. Even if what you're feeling doesn't look quite like the love you were expecting, it doesn't mean it's not loving. The love is there, Miral, I know it is. It just has to grow enough for you to see it."

"I hope you're right," Miral said, resting her head on her mother's shoulder.

"Of course, I'm right. I'm your mother." B'Elanna patted her knee again, more of a slap this time. "Now let's go down and get some dinner. I'm starving and I'm guessing you are, too."

Miral kept one arm tucked around her mother's as they went down the stairs. "It's all your fault, you know."

"What's that?"

"How hard I am on myself. You and Dad always made everything look so easy. Marriage, parenting, life in general. It's annoying, you know, having parents that are so together. I mean, were the two of you born that way? Did you ever struggle at all?"

Mom let out a bark of a laugh as Dad came into the entryway, Bess tight on his heels. "Shovar's got him, kitten," he said before she could ask. "Now what's so funny?"

"Your daughter is wondering if we've ever struggled like  _she's_  had to, or if we've always been this together," Mom said with a snort.

Dad's face broke into a wide grin. "Have you never talked to your Grandpa Owen? Did you forget your mom dropped out of the Academy? Or were you kicked out, B'Elanna?"

"It was my choice to leave, thank you very much," Mom said with a scowl. "And you were the one that was dishonorably discharged. Plus, how many times have you been in prison? Ten? Fifteen?"

Dad frowned and started to count on his fingers. "Five, I think? Six if you include that time Janeway threw me in the brig for shoving Chakotay. But I was under her orders, so it hardly counts." He smiled sweetly at Miral. "But please, Commander Paris, tell me about all the times you've been an irredeemable screw-up. Because I think I missed those bits."

She rolled her eyes at him, but inwardly Miral felt a rush of affection for both her parents. Something loosened inside her. It finally felt like she was home. "I hate both of you, you know."

Dad threw an arm over her shoulder and kissed her cheek. "If you didn't hate us sometimes, then we did something wrong," he said. "Go to the dining room. Shovar's in there, along with that Irish cheddar you like — I had Joe send some. Dinner'll be ready in ten: beef bourguignon. I followed Barra's recipe to the letter."

"Thanks, Daddy," she murmured and gave him his own peck on the cheek before she went to find her husband and baby.

She heard Shovar before she saw him. " _yIQong SuvwI'Hom. mabom 'e' yIQoy,_ ". It was a lullaby, a very old one: 'Sleep, Little Warrior.' Miral had been surprised the first time she'd heard her husband's singing voice — a light, musical tenor. He'd once even had aspirations of singing professionally, but he lacked the power necessary to fill a Klingon opera hall.

_Thank God for Shovar_ , Miral thought as she leaned against the doorframe and watched her husband, looking even more imposing than usual when compared to the tiny infant cradled in his arms. She'd known, when they'd first decided to marry, that Shovar had dreams of a large family, but he'd been unfailingly kind during their years of trying and failing, over and over. He'd never complained nor blamed her, despite Miral being very aware it was her mix of human and Klingon genetics that had largely caused their issues.  _Even if I'm not a very good mother,_ she decided,  _at least I made sure Amar has a good father._

"Hi," she said when the song ended. "Is he asleep?"

"No," Shovar said, giving her a brilliant smile as he looked up from his son's face. "He's quite alert. Come and see."

Miral had to stand a little on her toes, her husband having nearly forty centimeters on her in height. Shovar slouched to meet her halfway. "I've never noticed before," she murmured.

Though only two weeks' old, Amar's ridges were already starting to harden and were more prominent than Miral's. His large brown eyes darted around the room and his mouth was slightly agape, as if he were mesmerized by all the new sights that surrounded him. Or maybe he was just learning his parents' faces.

"What have you not noticed?" Shovar asked when Miral continued to watch their son in silence.

"How much he looks like you," she said. "Let me take him." Miral opened her arms. "Come here, baby. I've got you."

**The End**

**Author's Note:**

> Coming next week! Relic (starring Owen Paris)


End file.
